The Rotcerids are Rising
by Grass stained Umbrella
Summary: Grab your pot set on boil, throw in the IZ, Cast stir swiftly, and then throw in the Irken military and limbs of government. Set it out to cool, and voila! You’ve got a chaotic stew of…well…chaos… Note: Not centered on cooking : or illegal narcotics :
1. Union Monday

**Warnings**: (_ kinda_): This is my first Fan fiction, _ever._ ALSO, I do not curse, I do no not swear, if my characters are occupied in "bed-side" activities, reader admittance stops at the traditional door-kiss thing. **In short:** I'm absolutely positively boring, so if you like slash and well-written stories, go get yourself another author.

**If you blatantly believe I possess Invader Zim you belong in The Crazy House For Boys**

**--**

It was raining. It was raining _hard._ It was raining so hard the School had been forced by an angry mob of parent/guardians to scrape up their limited budget and order the Union-owned bus-drivers out into the catastrophic water-wall of calamity. Needless to say the bus drivers were not happy about these state events and did not hesitate, in the psychological abuse of the children whenever they had the courage to respire too noisily.

They rolled their government-own urban assault vehicles through various unsuspecting neighborhoods, great deafeningly-yellow sharks patrolling blood-saturated waters, occasionally running over lawn-gnomes, mail-boxes, and innocent passersby. At long last the vehicles pulled away from their individual bus stops, and into miles of bumper to bumper traffic.

_THUMP THA-THUD! _

Dib, who had been heroically endeavoring to terminate the last few problems of his current events assignment on the school bus, gave the source of the commotion a fleeting glance, double-took, then gawked, transfixed at the sight that met his childish, awe-struck eyes.

_No way __this__ was just too weird…_

It was…a dinosaur…no, not just any dinosaur…a Tyrannosaurus Rex…roaring up and down the interstate in the middle of Monday morning traffic!

He stared at it numbly for what felt like hours, riveted by the sight of a prehistoric creature that had not existed on earth for billions of years. Then, as he watched the living fossil tread heavily on cars as people screeched shrilly, ran for their lives, took pictures, and get eaten he realized something was amiss.

"**Where's Zim?"**

Unbeknownst to him, the alien in question was cackling passionately as his Voot-cruiser soared high above the crowd delightedly jotting down notes for his own homework-mission.

_OH-NO! It's in the middle of the humans' Monday morning traffic phase and there's a T-Rex on the freeway! The stink-beasts on the frontline are the first to go._

_How ironic that they had sadistically spared amongst one another just to be there. Pandemonium ensues. The filthy human-monsters squeal for support from their pit-i-ful hyuman law enforcement officers, dubbed_ the poll-ice _who unsuccessfully attempt to_ _accomplish tranquility and order but they are unsuccessful as they in turn are eaten like MacMeaty's' chic-ken MacMeat-cakes. With a earsplitting snap, their loud lighty flashy thingies are ripped off by the reptile's great glistening gapping jaws and are thrown twenty-five feet into the air and striking a nearby helicopter, a joke of contemporary engineering that had clearly been fashioned by piggies who had been driven crazy by the constant experimentation of their brain-meats by hideous earth scientists with far too much time on their filthy five-digited hands._

_..._

Dib vainly inspected the bus-riders for the diminutive alien for the fifth time before concluding that Zim was most definitely not on the bus. There was no way he would be stupid enough walk to school in the rain. This would mean he was up to something evil and diabolical. Since he usually enjoyed screening the fruits of his labor from a comparatively secure distance and seeing as something was already up, the logical hypothesis would be that this dinosaur mess was the work of his extraterrestrial arch-nemesis. And as the news chopper crashed down in a fiery wave of doom and destruction, he wondered what on Earth he was supposed to do now…

Gaz was infuriated. She just had to make it to level 53 and then she'd take out that poor excuse of human being that nature had been _so_ unkind as to label itself brother. Four levels to go before his death. What was up with him and his stupid little- "**DIE YOU STUPID DEMON DOG!"- **friend Zim? Three more levels to go prior to his demise. It was almost as if they-Two more levels to left proceeding to his annihilation. There he was ranting over the list of scientifically 'advanced' technology remaining in his arsenal, before methodically striking the names off the list. "**TASTE MY CLOVEN HOOFS OF DOOM!**"

...

Dib looked at his little sister, dumbfounded. People were being crushed and consumed and all she cared about was the worthless game on her stupid game-slave 2.5. "**Gaz**," he muttered sternly, unable to suppress that small beseeching tenor outside the exasperation he regularly articulated. "**People are getting hurt."**

**...**

She glanced at him, not bothering to eliminate the antipathy from her voice **"_So_? That's the way it goes, life stinks and then you die"**

His eyes dilated indistinctly, he knew by now he shouldn't be surprised by his sisters' reaction, but still…a teeny tiny part of him had wanted to think… "**SO?! This is the FATE OF MANKIND we're talking about here not some stupid-**"

"-**I hope you realize that if you do not go away NOW, you're only two more levels left till to your utter annihilation.**" She said the last bit in an eerily calm voice, as if describing the weather to some passerby.

...

He exhaled noisily, crushed yet again by his little sister's rejection, _What else was new._ and then slowly backed away. Fine, if she didn't fancy helping him, he would press onward in his despondent, dangerous, and demanding duty as Earth's one and only protector from the alien menace.

...

Zim was really enjoying himself. What was it about human beings they were just so fun to engage in recreation with? Oh how he loved being an Invader! Their pitiful fearful screaming! How glorious. He quickly pressed the record button, exasperated that his magnificent brain-meats had not thought of this sooner. He would record the final screams of the fading hyuman dirt-creatures…Every last sob, scream, and sniffle would be replayed at his leisure…he smiled, it was one of those disturbing frighteningly large smiles. Oh such sweet calamity… His monstrosity was stacking the little Roach's pitiably weak automobile machines like giant honking building boxes. Oooh now he's-_CRACK!_ -stepping on the machinery while their operators are still trapped within. An operetta chorus of inhuman screams pierced the morning air. **"It's truly the simple things in life you treasure."**

**...**

Dib glowered as he stuck his head inside his brief-case. All he had were his school supplies, his trusty laptop, and an object (which looked suspiciously like a laser pointer) he had inadvertently taken from last nights recon mission inside Zim's base. He had blocked Zim's plan but now owed Gaz the next Game-slave version "Pork-chop's Revenge" Enough about that it was time for some action. He could always use the missiles Dad had been making for the Government; sure they were in the experimental phase but what were a few minor technicalities compared to the saving of all civilization. "**Sorry, Dad**" he repented softly "**but the world needs my help!**" and with that he hacked into his father's mainframe and seized control of the computer-guided weaponry. Killer breathing fossil's quadrants were deftly plugged into the machine's target-program.

Two minutes… three minutes…nothing… Five…still what was that? YES! There they were speeding toward the great colossal beast…those grand fangs would never hold up to the awesome power of his father's technology…

**WWHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMMM!! **Disgusting brown sludge poured out nowhere iwith such force it sent the bus sprawling on its side, banishing the still-conscious riders to the rain-filled realm of pain and misery. it was on this day that most students at the Skool officially decided that rain was a force of pure evil and needed to be destroyed. Dib was rather pleased with himself. How many twelve-year-olds could claim they caused they defeated a real-life dinosaur? To his knowledge, he was the first. Cool. Ignoring the death-rays shot in his basic direction, he began to navigate through the sprawled and shattered wreckage. Head held high, "**Once again the world is saved by**-"

"**RRRRRROAAAAARRRRRRRRRR!!"** The T-Rex rose shakily to its feet battered but not beaten.

Dib's eyes, wide as the saucers he had chased since babyhood, were in danger of swallowing his face. Why hadn't that worked? Wait… His father had been experimenting with dirty bombs yes… but… he'd also been discussing ways to aid the poor in impoverished countries with poor soil by replicating… _horse manure… whichmeant… __he was covered in…EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!! _Then as REALITY STRUCK, namely the hunkering monster's saliva, he did the most logical thing he could think of: HE RAN

...

Dib's plight was not missed. In fact the scene was watched almost obsessively by the Union-owned bus drivers. They were not happy. The stupid lizard was preventing them from being paid. How were they supposed to get their pound of flesh if the thing was determined to eat theirs? Well, enough was enough. The school would pay for dragging them out in this weather, oh how they would pay.

They lined up in a swarm each walking in-step with their fellows, one mind, and many parts, a true collective. Then in one fluid synchronized motion, out came the protest signs.

They spoke as one.

Advancing slowly forward, it was made self-evident that either they or the T-Rex were to be overcome; no reparations were to be made just cold uncomplicated victory.

That Poor creature never had a chance.

They drove it out of town and in the end it plummeted to its doom in the form of a large cliff on the outskirts of town.

The victors then went about directing the students to the school, slowed considerably by angry students who paused every couple minutes to throw things at a dejected Dib, who had discovered that he'd left his stuff back at the wreckage.

At school, Dib glowered to himself how could he have forgotten. And why didn't Ms.-As if sensing he had almost questioned her authority, Mrs. Bitters bent over his desk peered into his soul, eyes narrowing dangerously as a low warning hiss escaped her throat.. Feeling acutely creeped out, Dib sat straight and thought positive thoughts toward her repeatedly until she sat at her desk. Zim smugly goose-stepped into the classroom, holding what appeared to be a large loose-papered manuscript. Dib glared at him, and to his surprise, received a jovial wave in return. "**Nice job, with the dinosaur, Space-boy, too bad it didn't work!"**

At this Zim smirked "**I have no idea what you are talking about **_**Dib,**_** and you know, the same thing can be said about you."**

"**What do you mean, my destiny is too save all society." **He didn't understand… was Zim trying to insinuate that _he_ had created that mess?

"**I mean, pathetic Earth-monkey, that if it hadn't been for the untimely intervention of your 'Lay-bor Union', the only 'destiny' you'd be serving is Dinosaur food."** His Coat of arms-purple contact-covered eyes gleamed in triumph.

"**Well, you still didn't take over Earth!" **Dib shot back, projecting indomitability in the face of his competitor.

"**That's because I didn't try… all I did was complete Homework assignment #3423, however **_**Zim**_** does only what **_**he**_** wishes so **_**Zim**_** added a little twist to make things interesting. Did you complete your assignment-**noticing Dib defeated stance**-didn't think so. I win Dib-worm."**

"**You did all that stuff just to get out of watching a few stupid news stories?!"** Dib began outraged that anyone could have such a cavalier view of human life. Zim was an alien menace he reminded himself severely.

"**Yep."** And with that turned Zim turned his attention to the Bitters-human, who had begun yet another lecture concernining the hopeless state of the hopeless planet. When the Homework-checking moment of truth occurred Zim failed utterly in suppressing his amused chuckle. Dib had not forgotten his homework; Zim had simply taken it using his ships tractor-beams. Smeetish, yes, but Dib made such an easy little target.

--

Ultimately the Tyrannosaurus Rex carcass was never located, so the authorities simply put it down as yet another case in the growing Mass-hallucination epidemic, perhaps it was something in the air? Only time and future studies (paid for by government subsidies) would tell.

--I like criticism… it's the only way I'll learn…


	2. Two Tallests and an Antechamber

**If you blatantly believe I possess Invader Zim you belong in The Crazy House For Boys?Girls(BWA-HAA-Haa-ha!: Can't call me Sexist now, can you.-IGNOREME ****J****)**

**--**

Although both of his Tallest were considered equal, which made their drones take great care to ensure they received equal attention, under penalty of Sun insertion (getting hurled into the nearest sun), First Tallest-Drone Rem found his gaze repeatedly wandering upon the speaker, the meaning of the words he spoke most probably did not register with their intended audience, but to him, they held meaning which inspired a strange feeling that made him feel…strange…

"--**_My name is…heh…I can no longer recollect my own name…since our long ago war on individualism, we, the Irken Elite, with not even a Smeet's handful to boast imperative immunity, no longer are permitted to keep individual names, they must now be, Generic, according to our glorious military ranking system. Those above the Invader class are currently recognized merely through their rank, or if the Irken in question has any distinguishing markings the will be known briefly, say two minutes, for the above mention exception before their PAK, prompted by one of the Control-Brain departments and jolts them out of their controversial reverie… in spite of everything, Irkens are Irkens. There are no differences. There are no differences. We're all alike, we've got to be, the all and the sundry has got to be the same…special…which, in all honesty…means no one truly is…_**

**Prisoner: 9-237-9034-56-5-45111-345-6-765A-236-4-290**

**IKRKEN DATE-"**

"**Wait, wait, hold up!"** a voice protested heatedly.

The tall, pupil-less-purple-eyed, lime-green-skinned orator lowered his heavy duty custom designed HIDE (**h**olo-**i**nformaton **d**isk **e**mitter) and frowned across the room at his pink-eyed cohort, who was waving arms frenetically, n improbable wing-less bird preparing for an onerous expedition.

"**What?"** he shrilled, his frown furrowing deeper as his treacherous voice once again betrayed him.

"**You deserve a medal." **The opposing Irken growled glaring irately at a very bemused speaker who was vainly attempting to decipher the hidden meaning behind the contradicting statement. He watched him for a moment his quick anger replaced by amusement at the overtly perplexed expression on his antagonist's face. _The guy was just too easy_…

Not for the first time purple-eyed lecturer wished he'd been placed into the Administration limb instead of the D.I.L.(Dominion of Irken Legislators) his life would have been much simpler, Stupid Tallest Miyuki for establishing laws forbidding future Tallests from acquiring the_ good_ technology from other limbs. He should have been in The Administration, if he had, he'd be able to keep his dream equipment, because, after all the removal of any PAK-installed I.H.P.T training programs would jeopardize the recipient's health, and there were several thousand laws against harming a Tallest in any way, shape or form, and so the machinery would remain, leaving him free to look into the most secret crevices of an Irken's mind. Well, supposedly it didn't quite work like that… but it was close enough to make curly fries. Curly fries were _gooooooooooood_. Stupid Control-Brains for putting him in the wrong group. Giving up he permitted a crushed gaze to dominate his features. **"Why."**

"**Your Genocidal tendencies are second only to Zim."** He smiled sardonically past annoyances nearly forgotten.

"**What Genocidal tendencies?!**" He understood Zim…that...defective… was a pure adulterated Irkacidal evil! Wait, was he comparing him to Zim? No way, his collaborator could be mean but there was no way he could be that...mean...

**"Well... for starters..."** And thus began The Great Dissertation which would go down in the Irken history programs as the longest speech any Tallest had attempted in over 9,074 years. His audience hadn't known history was in the making, and had he known he most likely wouldn't have cared anyway, so he effectively did what most future Plebe's would have wanted to duplicate had the task been achievable

…he tuned him out.

Rem, however, was still staring open-mouth at his Pink-slowly changing to Red-eyed Tallest _Genocidal tendencies? _From what he heard, His Purple Tallest hadn't even had any "_Genocidal tendencies_" worth mentioning in his Invader days, and if such desires didn't materialize then, they didn't exist. Sure he had a temper, sometimes physically fought with his Red Tallest, and harbored a mad desire to assassinate all small Irken's but fortuitously now viewed that as pointless dream. _What was the point of being Tallest if nobody was left to serve and harass?_ He sighed deeply_ thank the Rotaerc for small miracles,_ he stared at his Biarchists, and realized the Red Tallest was still talking, mostly about how he was killing the precious hours of his days with his constant jabbering. he had scrubbed the antechamber from top to bottom _five times_ since the beginning of his speech. Then emerged himself in his food preparation. His lack of proper Irken motivation had been well known and had been the Tallest Invader in his swarm for over 150 years. His height had saved him from air-lock ejection, but his passive nature had kept him from rank advancement, of course he had done well in D.I.L(where the worst that could happen was the rare paper cut from few planets they worked with that still used the little rectangular slips) if it hadn't been for that one Irken…he didn't want to think about that not now any way, he was his Tallest, which gave him instantaneous reverence among the Inferiors, which now incorporated everyone…well, except for his red-clad Tallest hovering on the antechamber's opposing side who was still talking… he could really talk…boring…he yawned silently Then hid hid a smirk, the Purple-eyed Dinarcist had unceremoniously fell asleep in mid-air listening to the calmingly mindless ramblings of his hypocritical command equivalent…

"**And I finish this with a question: Why are you massacring my time by reading that junk?"** he scowled contemptuously, sounding every much the dictator he truly was.

"**What junk?"** the speaker's mild voice questioned, gracelessly jolting out of his semi-conscious stupor, gazing wide-eyed across the space as he soothingly caressed his H.I.D.E.

"**That garbage."** he said sharply pointing a long manicured claw in the direction of the others' cherished mechanism. "**Even a NEWLY-hatched smeet could tell you not all Irkens are the same. The taller the better**." He supplemented intolerantly.

"**Yes, that's how it's done _now_; however, you suggested that the control-brains were created to make the Tallests' lives less complicated. I told you that the control-brains have been around longer than the Tallest ranking system has existed. You said I was A-his voice lowered noticeably-defective!**" he contradicted vehemently as his arms steadily mimicked his comrades' prior bird-like movements.

In contrast the pink-eyed individual gave off an increasingly calm and thoughtful impression **"I don't remember ever saying any such thing-" **

"**-isn't kinda funny how you never remember anything you do wrong but when I do something stupid you- pounce on me?!"**

"**Well, I am a Tallest."** He answered smugly "**Irkens are only capable of getting framed for stuff they're a MRAWS-Rotcerid or below."**

"**Well, that's convenient, all that's left is the The Watcher, The MRAWS-controller, the Head of the board, The Citarconhcet-**Scinodegla, The Control-brains, and us."

"**Hmm…didn't mean to include the other Four…**" he muttered rousing himself he thoughtfully paced, discontented at the thought of further factions receiving the same privileges as the Tallests. At least he could do something about that, if he wanted, of course…but in all truthfulness, who wanted to take the time out of one's busy schedule to write down new laws, anyway? That was work for either the Tnemucoden or the Tnailassak led by their respective Ycilop-Tcetihcra and MRAWS-Rotcerids to handle? Only them and the freak next to him could share that freakish fetish for paperwork and legislation…it just wasn't natural for anyone else to want to have anything to do with I … unless, of course, it had to do with him getting a new plasma-laser-thingy to play… ahem…re-equipping the missive's weapon's base. That was fun…

"**-which is why I suggested…**" The purple-eyed Irken glanced over at his partner who had long since lost attention with the conversation and shuddered inwardly. That gleaming unholy light radiating off of his wicked pink eyes was enough to revitalize the deactivated and kill them all over again. Scary… **"Are you even listening me?"** he shot accusingly across the room. Dragging himself forcibly from the inviting images of beautiful, lasery-doom-filled chaos

"**Yes…"**

"**Then what was I talking about?"**

"**Ummm… the amazing delicousness of Curly fries?"**

Short laugh. **"No. although the awesome goodness of curl fries could never be in doubt, I was talking about inspecting the records and to find what was actually said."**

Rem's head shot up worriedly then programming setting in, he hurriedly prepared a file-system containing the events of the last month, highlighting and placing precedence on the discussion in question, then hurriedly transferred the I information to his Purple Tallests H.I.D.E and their personal computer. All this was done as he decorated the lunch table with donuts, chips, nachos… the basic necessities of life.

"**O.k... but I get to read it."**

"**Get on with it then!**" he shouted impatiently as he watched the Drone's progress…with the curly fries.

"**thank-you… alright …debated the obvious importance of lasers in a social gatherings. Much nonsense and commotion from the Purple Tallest"**

"**Nonsense?!" **

"**The Red Tallest offers reasonable and well-thought-out solution."**

"**REASONABLE!? You told me to go jump into a vat of HYDRAOXIC ACID"**

"**Blows exchanged, The Purple Tallest RECIEVES his COMEUPPANCE!"**

"**Oh come on, I totally won that one fair and square."**

"**then…oh…"**

"**oh, what" antennae perking up at the Co-Diarchist's tone. **

"**Okay… the term defective did come up**." He admitted repentantly, his red eyes glancing briefly at the floor. **"However,"** he continued upon glimpsing the rapt exultant expression gracing his colleague's face **"I was merely speaking of your lack of sense, in the topic, because…, well…, you know I don't believe information unless there's proof to back up that report."**

"**Which is why I searched the archives and located this file IRKEN DATE-"** he began exasperated, only to once again interrupted.

"**-Haven't I already made it clear, I don't want to hear ANY more of your stupid-"**

It was his turn to butt in"**-As I was saying, in the Irken year-AHH!!"** he screamed wildly as his H.I.D.E was viciously knocked out of his loving embrace. The screen sputtered then became darkened to an ominous black. His purple-eyes widened then glared at the scoundrel who had sadistically hurt his beloved instrument of choice. Then without thinking, he realed himself from the hover chair and attacked. His foot connected with his jaw, and his enemy staggered backward, knocking down several of the statues the drone had been cleaning. The impact sent a shock wave of pain from the Tallest's toes to his pelvis, so hard were his mandibles. He hurled his mug at him; which missed, but the flashing front kick didn't. he screamed loudly bending over as pain as air was ripped from his squiddly-spouch. He didn't even have the time to dodge before a vicious kick to his skull slammed into him with such force he could almost hear the music of the apocalypse. He fell back one hand clamped against his oozing head, eyes panicked in his undeniable raw power, speed, and attack precision.

It looked like the fight had gone out of the tcesni. _Oh come on, big guy you initated this… don't disappoint me,_ The Red-eyed Tallest calmly eyed both sides of his attacker's scrawny, quivering neck, _where to strike now? The tremulous raluguj, the claw-thick ditorac, or maybe the chest cavit, throwing his system into a fatal misfire?_ He was interrupted by a sudden bull-charge which was halted by a crushing kick to his face, followed by an attempted thudding by his sharp elbow into his ribs, blocked at the last minute, but was avenged with a neatly executed round-house kick that disrupted a good deal of his target's cartilage, who dropped screaming uncontrollably on the floor.

Rem streaked of the food table and tried to get between the two, but was stomped to the floor, his arms twisted behind him, and tossed at the food table, landing in the nacho, platter. Wiping the artificial cheese from his face, he watched the fight that had turned slaughter, his Purple Tallest was fighting back now, at least but he had to get the authorities. From the looks of things it was doubtful His enemy had managed to stand up on his one good leg a copper green river flowing slowly down his face. The swirl of hatred swelling from his eyes said what his mouth could not: one of them would die this night. That scared him. It wasn't the expression, he had seen it on the face of every son of a gun he'd kicked the old ego out of and that list was impressively long. He never really started fights, his enemies would start the fight, he would defend himself and the creatures would inevitably be truncated, branded with the bloody imprint of his military-issued boot on their beaten heads. It was the _who_, his_ best_ friend, was looking at him that was upsetting him... maybe he should just surr-- the Purple Tallest's claws whipped at his face, a disappointing, feeble thrust. He sent away the offending fingers with a well-aimed kick that broke one of his fingers.

His opponent retreated until his back touched the bar. He didn't look so tall anymore. He was too fast, too skilled his muscle mass meant nothing. He threw another wear punch but it was easily sidestepped. Then he aimed another kick at his abdomen, but he managed to clamp a big hand on his thigh. Reenergized at having finally capturing his elusive quarry, he lifted him up and he was thrown into the food table. He then walked over to the bar and twice smashed him headfirst into the ancient mirror that hung over the demolished food, shattering the glass and maybe his skull too. He then drove a massive knee right into his squiddly-spooch, and then threw him to the other side of the room. His head hit the cool hard floor, his body going into spasms.

His Red-eyes flinched as the size 18 boots slammed next to his head. He was roughly grabbed b the antennae and he was lifted straight up, his limp body a broken yo-yo. He studied him for a few minutes, and lowered his claw, a confused light going into his eyes. His arm moved so fast the purple enema didn't even seem to realize he'd been struck until his brain told him he was in an awful lot of pain. He dropped the red-eyed assailment whose fist connected to his head, knocking a tooth out, hitting him again, liquid spurted from his mouth. The Red-eyed Tallest was revving in for the crusher when the guards blasted the door down, guns out, a

Blue Shield Cerulean-eyed Irken whose uniform identified her as a MRAWS-Rotcerid seemed to be looking for any excuse to start shooting. Finding nothing she ordered the two combatants to the medical wing. Where, for several minutes they stared at each other intermittedly their bodies wrapped up in what looked like tasty mooshminky wrappers and as the medics poked their bodies with instruments.

Then they started

Laughing.

This seriously freaked out the medics, who immediately called in for backup.

The Red-eyed Tallest held a heavily bandaged claw to his battered friend

"**Truce."** A claw reached out and grabbed his tightly in his own.

"**Truce."**

The both smiled at one another as the faded into unconsciousness, not expecting to return.

The Tallest's final thought before the Purple-eyed Irken blacked out completely was simple:

_I still have to finish my report… _

--

"Heavens to Betsy-I've killed the Tallests!"

"No you haven't, stupid earth creature this is only a K+ fic." muttered the voice.

"Anyway some things have just been e-mailed to my attention"

"And mine."

"Yes they're out of character, I purposely made them out of character, because they're under the influence of- oww!( head is thumped by large metallic spider-leg) what was that for?!"

"You were giving away the plot, you had to be stopped."

Power-hungry-jerk…ok…MRAWS-Rotcerid… they're basically something like a field Marshall in Irken military terms. Also-(eyes alien warily) I'll explain more on their purpose, and the presence of the High ranking official later. Tcesni-n: Any Irken being; male, female, or smeet. This can also be used in the plural tense. The liquid I mention, it is not blood. I explain in further chapter.

For any other questions/comments, contact me.

I had to change my original chapter, it was stupid, I didn't like it


	3. After the Bell

Grass Stained Umbrella transform into JHONEN VASQUEZ…DANG IT…it didn't work…:sobs

Anywho… In an amazing show of Patriotism (it's July FOURTH!-INDEPENDENCE DAY!!- So away with you, ya great scurvy-long eared English Pig-Rabbits) I'm gonna write about baseball! (-technically not yet, but soooooon!)

--

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGG!!

The weak little muck-monkeys rushed out using the various routes at their disposal, the door…the window, and even the underground classroom stupid hu-mans, if they wanted destruction they could have at least had the common courtesy to approach him first. BUT NO-OOOO typical dirt-larvae could never think about anything but themselves. He stared darkly at the book before him "_The Human Guide to Humanity_" a dictionary written by Iam Ahuman. Baseball (bās'bôl') n.

_A popular human game played where two opposing teams of nine players utilize a bat and a ball. Each team battles alternately in the diamond patterned field and at bat, the batting players must run four bases in order to score, many claim the game is simply for fun, this is true, if one team fails the opposing team will "have fun" gloating for hours on end, often questioning such things as parentage, social life, mating habits etc . Those who do not attend these games are considered "wimps" and will therefore be subject to mental and physical abuse by their Peers…_

What was this wimp word? **"You dare threaten ZIM with you're your offensive OBSCURITY well…sit tight you, you will be located and eliminated if my name is ZIM…Which it is! Oh, how my name is _Zim_!..."**

He slammed the book down, scanning the many words that polluted the page, ripping several sheets in the process.**"All of you GET OFF Zim's page, he has planet destruction to plan."**

… So… many… words… eyes… need… break…NOO! He was an Invader, A Doom invader to be exact, he needed no pathetic "break" to read such a pathetic book..., still, with a certain amount of certainty he knew that no human could read this deluge, his SUPERIOR Irken eyes, _almost_ had a very small, insignificant, itty-bitty, little…ahem… "problem", which meant the likeliness of humans understanding of the writing, with their INFERIOR un-protected pupily eyes, had an ice crystals' chance of survival on Irk. He stabbed the book; his claws slicing through the old crinkled pages. **"Tremble in terror, Earthanoid Creation of dead tree carcasses"**

W.I.M.P

n.: _In human–computer interaction, WIMP is an acronym for "windowpane, image, menu, and position-apparatus"; it is a designated Computer-interaction technique which employs these elements. It was coined by Merzounga Wiliberts in 1981_.

He stared at the input and growled... "**I did not ask for this information, he wanted input on wimp, an insult, not dŭb'****ə****l-yū, ī, ĕm, pē, a lower species' stupid computer system…****" **He tossed the book aside, which hit Dib square in the back of his questionably large head.

**"Oww…Look... I'm sorry for the eight-hundredth and ninety-fifth time**(the whole school now knew whose fault the mornings' events and the book had been the least painful thing he had been hit with all day) **about what I did this…**_**Zim**_**…"**

**"Hello, Dib-human!"** he smiled brightly his day warming up slightly, then, taking in the subjects' haggard appearance, he glowered, Dib's _peerzz_ were apparently injuring his future mind-slave…those stupid humans were damaging his merchandise _HOW DARE THEY!! _He'd have to subtly embed some very suggestive threats into the right set of flabby pink flesh known as ears, later. …_ Those who do not attend these games are considered "wimps" and will therefore be subject to mental and physical abuse by their Peers…_ "**Is Dib-creature a '**_**wimp**_**'?"**_ Oops…he hadn't meant to say that out loud…_

Dib turned around so fast, he almost blurred, slow for an Irken, but, considering the species, it was a fairly impressive feat.

"**I'm not a wimp**." He stated simply, the muddy eyes narrowing into thin dark slits. Jeez what was wrong with his classmates, they were all the same, even the alien one. He snatched his book and began reading, pretending not to notice the space invader who was blocking his light… either not noticing or not caring, the little green boy, shoved a chair across the room, with an earsplitting crack and sat next to the junior paranormal investigator, eying his book choice; "_How to dissect an Alien in under five minutes: WITH PICTURES__"_, disdainfully before choosing not to comment on Dib's failure to notice his book was upside-down. No human could ignore the magnificence of the presence, which was _ZIM_!! So he sat patiently, sharing the table with the Dib, waiting for the human's will to crack, as it inevitably would, and sure enough, several minutes later, his assumption was proven correct.

"**What do you want **_**Zim**_."

He spit his name out with such unguarded malice, he couldn't help but feel a swell of Invader's pride surging through him, _yep, this was the proper respect he was due from a rebelling enemy species_. **"Intelligence."** He replied innocently, his mouth pulled into what he thought was a friendly smile.

Dib scoffed at the double-edge comment, not bothering to retort, which would upset Zim, who cause a colossal commotion that his aching head didn't want to handle at the moment. Still…there was no way on _EARTH_ he was going to tell the egocentric extraterrestrial anything, especially how often those… fangs haunted his... nightmares. He repressed the shudder with effort. **"Like I'm going to help you.**" He spat. For a creature from outer space that was so obsessed on his self-image, he wasn't very bright.

_But you have helped me, many times_, he was tempted to say but held back. "**Relax…I just want a definition on the insult, wimp**."

"**I-am-not-a-wimp"** he whispered vehemently through his teeth.

Zim sighed at the typical stupidity of humans. It was surprising they even lasted as short as they did. "**No, foolish dirt child, I was asking you **_**what**_** a wimp was, not, in the language of cowards: **_**implying**_**, something **_**ZIM **_**does not do, that you **_**were**_** one…**" Zim smiled patiently, he would never use a term he did not understand.

"**Why don't you just…oh yeah...**(the skool council had decreed all books with insults to be placed on the banned list, as they supposedly taught children to be insensitive**)…well a wimp…is**…" he tried to recall the definition but did not remember ever looking it up…oh well… **"…a wimp is someone who is viewed as inhuman, and therefore unworthy of the basic human rights issued in the Geneva Convention**." The alien visibly paled. **"But Zim is Human, so human... so HUMAN in fact that no Dirt-Larvae CREATED is more human than ZIIIM"**

**"Not If your a wimp."**

Without another Zim word goose-stepped out of the room… Then, curious as to the new plans that devious mind was concocting even as he sat, waiting a few minutes, he followed space-boy through the door, only to be stopped by an irate Mrs. Bitters

**"You will be paying for that book, I trust …"** she hissed impassivly, her thick half-moon bifocals blocking out her eyes, if indeed she had eyes.

**"But Zim-"**

**"Zim is minority with a chronic skin condition, you are not, and as a result, you must pay for the book."** She left him. Shocked and angry he stomped off in the direction he had last seen _ZIM_ take. --

The alien in question had just completed devoting the remaining recesses of the season to the stupid human pastime, dubbed_ baseball_. Humans had far too many rules and traditions for his tastes, the mark of an inferior race, he reminded himself snarling. Irkens were allowed full freedoms…as long as the government approved. Saluting the Coach-human, he marched steadily homeward, unaware Dib, was running an increasingly frantic search throughout the skool.

--

For those of you who are "computer conscious" formerly known as Geeks, neophilites, and Geeko Sapiens: A W.I.M.P is an actual computer style of interaction…don't go by my definition, though, it was tweaked…

Just so you know, I'll be alternating subject matter every other chapter.

Ex: Next chapter will not have Major Cannon IZ characters. THE ONE AFTER IT WILL.

You like Y/N?


End file.
